Extra bacon, please
A culinary analysis of our first date.
Seventeen years ago this week, my wife and I had our first date. And the opening of the poem from October 18, 2021 pretty much says it all:
13 years ago. today I ordered a pizza with cheese, potatoes, and bacon. And sat down across from a lovely vegetarian. Who choked down The most pathetic, limp hummus wrap ever made.
When omnivores and vegans sit down together, it is always on uneven footing. 99.9% of eating establishments roll out the red carpet for the former, and give the latter a rusted old key to the back door of the kitchen, right next to the bathroom. On a first date, this disparity becomes even more apparent.
It was 2008. We sat at Popovers, an upscale-ish cafe in my hometown that’s still there. Barack Obama was weeks away from making history, the kind of powerful, inspiring history we used to make. And I was not the fine, strapping, upstanding vegan that I am today.
“…if you order that, we won’t be able to share…”
But her veganness was not news to me. She had been clear about that part of herself when we ate together at the Yom Kippur break-the-fast a week or so earlier. And yet I, in my infallible wisdom, looked at the hand-scrawled whiteboard menu and decided that a pizza with cheese and bacon (bacon, really?) was the best choice for a good first impression.
(If I’ve made a good first impression, tell someone! ) —>
I wish I could tell you more about the rest of that day, but this choice, this image of us sitting at a small table with our two plates side-by-side, is what is firmly imprinted in my brain. I’m pretty sure a nice walk took place after the meal, and the kind of semi-revealing first date conversation that begins to scratch the surface of who this other person really is without revealing so much that they will want to back away slowly.
And so that day began my long, slow journey to meet her where she was. On the one hand, she always said “order what you want,” “eat what you want.“ But then she would follow up with, “well, if you order that, we won’t be able to share.“ That did it nearly every time.
And now, a decade or more into my own veganness, I have encountered more than my fair share of limp hummus wraps. Payback, I imagine, for what could’ve been our first—and last—date, had she been feeling just the slightest bit less generous.